


Too Far To Fall

by mansikka



Series: Too Far [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> <img/> </p>
</div>A few months further down the line in the Too Far series.<hr/>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is finally the end of it! I can't quite believe this series has ended up as such a long thing from what started as a drabble so very long ago.
> 
> When you start reading this, you'll probably figure out why I had Dean's side of the story told in the past tense, and Cas' in the present (at least... I hope it makes sense now, anyway)
> 
> I apologise in advance for the angst, I assure you now that no one important will die, and I promise, the fic is complete, there's no chance of it being abandoned, I'll try and post it as quickly as I can :)
> 
> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> x

_There is a silence in the air that is anticipatory, loaded with_ wait _. There is stillness. There is fear. And there is fury._

 _And the last thing Cas hears before his world crashes down around him is a soft choked gasp, as Dean turns to him wide-eyed, before glancing down at the red wicking up into his shirt from the blade protruding out of his gut_.

* * *

One year, Dean thought to himself.

One year, and one of the best he had ever had, even if it was just in terms of his personal life and nothing else.

That he even had a personal life was an astonishing enough fact in its own right. But that he got to share that personal life with Cas, was sometimes so overwhelming, that at times, Dean found himself staring out over the dashboard of the Impala in utter shock, hands gripping tightly to the wheel as though to steady himself. The good kind of shock, he hastened to add, because the thing Dean really still couldn't get his head around sometimes was that he'd got that lucky. That Cas actually loved him back.

Love, Dean thought to himself, grinning without restraint, and blushing even though it was only him there in the room. He could admit that now, that this thing he and Cas had, was love. He might even be able to bring himself to say it from time to time; when he was falling asleep, when he whispered it into Cas' ear when they took some time for themselves on a rare occasion. He’d even told Cas he loved him out loud, and in front of Sam once, but that had been after a spectacularly near miss on a case that had almost proved fatal.

Which was not something on which he intended to dwell, he reminded himself. Not now, and certainly not today, not of all the days he could choose to dwell on things.

Anniversary.

It was a strange word for Dean. It was usually a word he associated with a reminder of bad things. His mother's death. His dragging down to hell. The day he returned from Purgatory with nothing but the image of Cas scorched on the back of his eyes.

Bad things.

But this. This anniversary was a good one, and Dean was still trying to wrap his idea around the very concept.

One year, of having the thing he wanted most in the world, and having Cas want him back just as much. One year, of knowing that there was someone who cared for him, other than the way Sam did, obviously, because that was entirely different; but someone who was always interested in his well-being because it ensured their well-being, just from knowing that he was okay. One year, when he had experienced such utter joy, and happiness, and true, all of the less poetic but just as sensual stuff as well.

One year.

Dean felt a surprising bubbling up of excitement in his stomach at the thought of many more years just like that to come, but tried to keep a lid on it so that he wasn't bouncing around the room in what might have once been out of character anticipation.

Cas had reduced him to sap at times. And Dean could not care less about that. But he needed to get ready, he needed to be organized, and he needed to compose himself for walking past Sam without inviting too much commenting.

Sam wouldn't be able to resist smirking at him wickedly anyway; ever since Dean had mentioned him and Cas going away together for a few days he'd been insufferable. With helpful suggestions that had the tips of Dean's ears turning crimson, and some others that were so thoroughly obscene that Dean found himself whimpering and fighting the urge to curl into a ball.

Wherever Sam had learned about such things, or even the vocabulary for them, Dean absolutely did not want to know.

The bottle of lube he'd adorned with a bright red bow and left on full display on the dashboard yesterday though, that would be getting some use, Dean thought to himself, yanking the offensive bow off and grinning as he tossed the bottle into his holdall.

Dean checked the small pile of tickets he'd printed off for entrance to half a dozen of the places Cas had mentioned wanting to see, as well as the reservation for the hotel, and an itinerary to go with the rough one he had in his head.

With a final glance around the room, Dean checked he had everything, nodding once to himself, and headed out of the door.

* * *

Sam watched them go with no small amount of smirking, waiting as they disappeared off into the distance until he could no longer hear the familiar rumble that was the Impala, then headed back inside, laughing to himself.

There was absolutely no way he was going to pass up on the opportunity to tease Dean relentlessly every chance he got; it was his duty, and Dean's behavior had earned such affectionate ridicule. It was almost a shame that Cas had arrived at the very moment Dean had walked in to the kitchen, because Sam had a whole load of rehearsed remarks that he knew would have Dean unable to make eye contact with him, and that were now going to have to be stored up for use at another time.

Stalking over to the fridge, Sam pulled out the leftovers Dean had plated up for him, as well as a load of other things that Dean objected to having in his fridge, and prepared himself a meal. He'd need a full stomach to go through the utter mound of paperwork they'd seemed to accumulate out there in the library, and with Dean and Cas being away, Sam had every intention of getting that organized, then getting out of the bunker and having some fun for himself.

He turned on some music – his music; not that he didn't naturally tend to whatever Dean had on in the Impala, because that music was just as much a home to him as the car was. But this was the kind of background noise Dean would do nothing but complain all the way through, and at that thought, Sam cranked it up a fraction louder, grinning around his fork as he did.

His eyes drifted over the various piles of ongoing cases that were almost tidily arranged at one end of the table. He leaned over, grabbing the file that he'd written Weeping Angels in big, bold letters on the front of, and winced to himself.

He could still see the way Dean had angrily scored it out and told him not to have such bad taste, and as he traced his finger across the grooves cut into the file’s cover he also remembered Cas surprising them both with by realizing it was a Doctor Who reference.

Cas' stern lecture about how the angels mentioned in that file were not the villains, and were certainly not made of stone, had Sam groan softly to himself at his own insensitivity both then and now. That Dean had glared at him for hours following the conversation was the last memory he allowed himself of it, and he shook his head as though to clear it.

Cas. Jean. Peter. Maggie. And of course, the unknown woman found and so badly cared for in Ohio by a relatively new hunter, Josh. That they hadn't even been able to do her the service of at least finding her vessel's name, Sam knew, troubled Cas more than he would ever admit out loud.

That they only knew the names of the angels' vessels was yet another indicator of how little they knew about what was happening to them. They had the history of Maggie more than any of the others, but even that limited information left them all feeling lacking.

That there had been no more angels found was both a relief and enough to keep them all on quiet alert, even if it wasn't something they discussed often together. Each of them had looked in this file, more than once, and on separate occasions. And each of them were without an explanation as to what had been happening.

Sam glanced through everything they had now as he ate, having committed much of it to memory already, and still seeing nothing that would help them; not that he had expected it to, really. Tentatively, he had allowed himself again to hope that whatever it was was over now.

Seeing how thoroughly happy Cas and Dean were together, it was easy to forget that there had ever been a time when Cas had been so ill – and that he and Dean had once not been so very wrapped up in one another.

And for all the teasing and taunting Sam put them both through, he loved it. He loved them, and to see them as they were together, he knew he would never find anything else in this world that made Dean as happy as Cas did.

With a final glance over the file in front of him and the same images and lines of text as always staring back up at him from the well-thumbed pages, Sam scraped up the last of his meal, closed the cover, and pushed it away again.

* * *

The _precious seconds are ticking away; Cas knows how bad the wound is, knows that if he doesn't get to him immediately that Dean is in danger of bleeding out before his very eyes. Dean's already fallen to his knees, bending over and curling in on himself, and his breath is coming out in shaky rasps._

_“Go, Cas,” he hears Dean gasp out, a final pleading for him to save himself, as though Dean is unaware of how Cas couldn't even exist anymore without him._

_“You heard him. Go, Castiel. The human does not want you here,”_

In _that moment, there is no malice in the voice that is keeping him away from Dean and verbally blocking his path. No coldness, no hostility, despite the anger that is bristling in the air around them. Calm, measured words, as though Cas isn't being ripped apart by not being able to do anything._

_“Please,” he begs, allowing tears to thicken the word as he stutters it out. “ Please ...”_

* * *

Dean glanced over at Cas again and frowned.

Dean and Sam had been interrogating witnesses on a case that looked like a relatively straightforward salt and burn; which should be easy enough once they'd found exactly what they were looking for.

Mid-morning, Cas had joined them, standing outside the cafe where Dean was speaking to a waitress and just watching him in silence as he finished his work. He'd nodded to him when Dean stepped outside, the two of them turning the corner indulging in the easy back and forth of small talk.

They had climbed into the Impala, keeping what Dean referred to as their ‘business’ faces on as they waited for Sam, although Cas' hand had already reached across the seat to wrap around Dean's and his thumb was idly tracing familiar circles onto Dean’s skin.

Sam climbed in a few moments later, nodding to them both and slumping down in the back seat as Dean turned the car around and drove them away.

Sam's first port of call when they arrived in the motel they'd booked into the night before was to go and book another room for himself.

That neither Sam nor Dean even spoke about Sam’s new sleeping arrangement was evidence of just how often this very thing happened; the single smirk Sam gave Dean in the rearview mirror was loaded with enough.

When Cas and Dean closed the door to their motel room seconds after Sam had ran in and out to grab his things, there was the briefest of pauses before they were on each other, clawing at clothes, teeth nibbling into skin and biting against lips.

And they'd been laid on their backs, spent, breathing air back into their lungs, when Cas had gone completely still, resting the back of his hand against Dean's stomach, urging him to wait, and be silent.

That had been at least ten minutes ago; long enough for Dean to have calmed, cooled down, and be fighting not to drift off to sleep. Now, to reassure himself that Cas was still lucid, he snagged Cas' hand against his chest, feeling a touch of relief as Cas gripped his fingers back, although he continued staring unseeingly up at the ceiling.

A minute passed. Another. Dean did his best to rein in his impatience and concern, and just as he was about to roll over and try to nudge Cas into some kind of response, he saw him blink, and swallow, and roll on to his side, wrapping a hand around Dean's waist and pressing an absent kiss into his shoulder.

“Gonna tell me what's going on?” Dean blurted out, wincing as his battle to keep his patience in check was finally lost.

Cas continued to nuzzle against his shoulder, swinging his leg forward to rest between Dean's. “Angel Radio,” he said eventually, nodding as Dean caught his eye in surprise.

“Seriously? Who?”

Cas' brow furrowed and he shifted a little more, propping himself up on one arm. “The angel would not tell me their name.”

Dean huffed out his displeasure, reaching out and resting a hand over Cas' hip as he struggled to keep his commenting in.

“He – they. They insisted that they were referred to as Peter .” Cas looked at Dean then, to check that he understood, and saw he did, as Dean's eyes grew wider.

“Peter? As in. The guy in Namibia?”

Cas nodded.

“Wait,” Dean said urgently, rolling on to his side so that they were chest to chest. “He's alive?”

“He is free,” Cas said softly, sighing to himself, and smiling as his extended breath caused his skin to bump against Dean’s. Dean winked, leaning in that little bit closer and claiming for himself a quick kiss, despite the seriousness of their subject.

“And the guy? Peter?”

“He was already gone, Dean. As you—”

“I mean,” Dean amended, running a hand along Cas' thigh and curling it around his hip again. “What was left of him. The vessel.”

Cas closed his eyes, wrapping a firm arm around Dean and pulling him in a little closer. “Peter told me that the human body acted as an incubator for the angel 'poison'. That it killed the vessel, the actual Peter, instantly, and that his grace did enough to keep the vessel from dying, prolonging his entrapment. It was only when the organs were finally unable to sustain themselves, even with the ‘Peter’s’ grace, that the body eventually shut down. And the angel was released.”

“So,” Dean said, his voice shaking, “He. He's been awake? All this time? Like... inside the guy? Just... trapped?”

“Trapped and remaining trapped by his own grace it would seem,” Cas added, pressing an idle kiss against Dean's cheek.

“That sounds... you know how that sounds, Cas,” Dean mumbled, shifting so he could wrap a protective arm around him as though he could be some kind of shield. “If that'd been you...”

Dean's words drifted off, and Cas leaned in and kissed him, hard, insistently, rolling him over again on to his back.

“It appears... that I was 'lucky', Dean. A combination of this vessel being mine alone, of you caring for my wound. Of my... anger,” he said, ducking away a little.

Dean chased his mouth, claiming a harder kiss, sliding his fingers through the back of Cas' hair and keeping him there.

“It appears. That between your care, my human immune system, and my grace, I was able to fight back. Thank you, Dean,” Cas mumbled, straddling Dean's hips and bracketing his head between his forearms, pressing urgent kisses over his face, and neck, and shoulders in between his words. “Thank you,”

Dean slid his hands around Cas' back, soothing him as he felt Cas shuddering against him. “You did it too, Cas. You fought. You fought, Cas. Wasn't just me,”

“But you, Dean. Without you—”

“I would be lost without you, Cas,” Dean told him urgently, cupping his face and forcing Cas to look at him. “If... I... I'd be lost , Cas. I couldn’t do it. I—”

Cas dropped his head down into the crook of Dean's neck, nuzzling into him as Dean turned to whisper an I love you into the shell of his ear before pressing a kiss there, wrapping his arms around him even tighter.

“Dean,” Cas whispered urgently, and despite how much they'd worn each other out just a little while earlier, there was a desperation to the way they moved together now, a need to remind one another that they were both there, and there together.

* * *

Another while later as they laid breathless in each other's arms for a second time, Dean battled to stay awake once more.

He pressed kisses into Cas' skin as he tried to word the questions that had struck him earlier, and nibbled his way along Cas' jaw before claiming his lips, then pulled back, fixing him with a stare.

“So,” he began, swallowing awkwardly and ducking back in for another kiss. “He. Peter. The angel. Where is he?”

“He is in Heaven. He will not return to Earth.”

“He won't? Or he can't?”

Cas shook his head. “I think it is understandable that after his recent experiences, he does not wish to inhabit a vessel again, and I do not think that he would even want to try. I believe he will choose to serve heaven and only assist where he is needed from afar. He...”

Dean watched as Cas hesitated, and waited as patiently as he could.

“Peter shared my... fondness. For humanity. He had people that he chose to protect above all others. Human confidants. Peter had a rapport with his vessel that perhaps was less... symbiotic, than Maggie and Mags. They were, however, very, very close.”

Dean nodded slowly, and together they began to see where the pieces of this puzzle might fit.

“So if this thing. Is only affecting angels who... like ... you know... people,” Dean began, swallowing nervously.

Cas nodded, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Dean's. “It appears that such angels are being targeted.”

“But... by who?”

* * *

 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

_“It will be over soon, Castiel. He is fading.”_

_“Please,” Cas begged again, his voice catching._

_“You are an angel, Castiel. Your place is in heaven. Amongst your own kind. Not down here with all of_ your _pets. You have forgotten yourself.”_

_Cas tries to sidestep him, tries every tactic he knows, both human and angel, trying to get to Dean, willing to throw himself through the flaming circle of holy oil that acts as yet another barrier between them if it means he can save him._

_“Dean —”_

_“The righteous man has fallen so far,” and now the voice is seething, turning from calm to full of loathing. “And by letting him... defile you, he has made you fall with him.”_

_Every move is blocked, and all Cas can hear is Dean's breaths stuttering, and slowing._

_“I —”_

_“And when he dies. You will_ be _free again. But you will need to seek forgiveness. Whether you receive it or not is out of my hands. I am just here to hand out justice to those who have... diverted from the path.”_

_“I lo —”_

_“Do not. Do not pollute the ears of this vessel, whilst I still occupy it, with your words. You will watch him die, and you will come home. Seek absolution. You will not see him again.”_

_“Take my grace. Take it —”_

_“What would I want with_ your _grace, Castiel? It has been diluted by your insistence on remaining here on Earth.”_

* * *

Sam glanced out of the window of the hardware store where they were currently investigating a murder and frowned for a third time, his mouth in a grim set line as he turned back and stared, unfocused, over to where Dean was finishing speaking with the local police.

Perhaps he was imagining it, he told himself. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, or his mind was making connections that weren't really there.

Sam watched distractedly as Dean shook the police officer's hand and turned back to him, gesturing for them to leave. He trailed out behind Dean, eyes instantly turning in the same direction as they had been looking in from inside the store, and finding nothing, which somehow made him frown again, even more uneasy.

“Hey. You listening?”

Sam looked down at the back of Dean's arm nudging against his own, registered he was speaking to him and cleared his throat. Before he could get any words out, he was surprised to find that he had been so lost in his thoughts that they were already stood next to the Impala, and Dean was looking at him with a scowl that spoke of his concern.

Sam shook his head, clearing it. “Sorry. What?”

Dean narrowed his eyes, changing his stance a little and straightening up. “You okay?”

For a moment Sam thought about feigning ignorance, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary. But he and Dean were so good right now, so open and honest, it would be a huge step back to try and keep anything from him. Even something that might be insignificant, which he hoped this was. So he squared his shoulders, nodded, thinking how to get out his words and—

“Sam—”

Sam's shoulders slumped, and he reached out for the door handle, pulling it open only a fraction before he admitted, “I think we're being watched. Or followed,”

Dean's eyes narrowed a touch, but he nodded, walked around to his side of the car and stared expectantly back at him, with neither of them making any moves to actually climb in.

“I mean,” Sam said, huffing a little to himself. “I'm not... couple of days ago I saw this guy, when we were interviewing back at that drug store. I mean, I thought I saw a guy but... I don't know. Didn't really think too much of it.”

Dean nodded slowly, silently asking Sam to continue.

And then we got here. I didn't think anything of it at first, I just... I thought I saw him again. Over at that cafe we stopped at,” Sam nodded in the general direction up the street, and both of them turned to look. “And... when we were just in there, I swear I saw him again, stood across the street just... staring. I mean... might not even be us he was staring at, but...”

“But knowing us, and our history—”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, sighing out. “So. Thoughts?”

Dean shrugged, swinging his door open and ducking inside, with Sam following suit. “Guess we'll keep an eye out. Nothing else we can do. What's he look like?”

Sam gave a brief description of the man's appearance and Dean nodded, storing the information away since no one in particular came to mind.

“Hate to say it,” Sam had, hesitating only for a second and only because he feared Dean's reaction.

“But...?” Dean prompted, although Sam guessed that Dean was there already.

“There was something about him. The way he was standing and just... staring? And him disappearing so quickly like that?” Sam flicked his eyes to Dean's for a second then broke the contact.

Dean's expression grew grim. “Angel?”

“Yeah...”

* * *

“ _Then kill me,”_

_The command Cas wants to inject into his words is lost in the way he trembles, tears thickening the back of his throat so that they come out stilted, and weak._

_“Kill me,” he repeats, and it comes out like a plea. “Dean... he does not —”_

_But his words are cut off with cruel, amused laughter._

_“Castiel,” he hears, a lilt that licks around his senses with mockery. “You seem to be under the impression that you get to make your own choices here. I have given you your options. You believe I_ would _free_ you _? By granting you your death? No_ , _Castiel._ You _will_ suffer, _if you choose incorrectly. In fact, I almost urge you to do just that. Because I will take great pleasure in watching you fall.”_

 _Cas hears a soft exhale of breath out of his_ eyeline _followed by a slump, and he knows that Dean has passed out. He can hear, barely, the erratic pumping of his heart, and knows that with every beat he is slipping away from him_.

* * *

Dean pressed his nose into Cas' temple and pulled back, smiling down at him. "So," he said, ducking down again and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. "We've got an entire day. Where there's no reason to be anywhere, no need to do anything, no actual requirement to leave this bed if we don't want."

Cas smiled at the last part, humming approval to himself as Dean moved that kiss from his lips, to his cheek, and all the way down his throat, nuzzling there for a moment before resting his chin on his chest and looking up at him.

"What do you wanna do?" Dean asked softly.

Cas shifted until Dean was draped almost completely over him, then ran his fingertips lightly up his sides and over where it was still a little tender from where he'd been gripping on to him earlier.

"I believe we have already done what I wanted to do today," he said, smiling in immediate answer to Dean's.

"Sure. No reason we can't again," Dean mumbled into his skin, ghosting his lips first over a nipple then down Cas' ribs before flicking his tongue out over the Enochian tattoo that Dean never failed to find hot as hell when he pictured Cas getting it done.

"And I would not object," Cas agreed, still running those same light traces down his sides, and lower.

"But," Dean prompted, doing nothing to encourage Cas to think of anything else by starting another trail of kisses at his belly button that just went down, and down, and—

"Perhaps later we can go out," Cas managed to gasp out mostly coherently.

Dean kept up the same steady pressing of kisses, smiling as Cas grew hard against his lips. "Where's out?" He asked, curling his fingers around Cas' hips.

"Perhaps... Perhaps a park... Green... I—"

"Mm," Dean agreed, adding licks to his assault of kisses that actually, Cas showed no objection to at all, "sounds good. When's 'later'?"

"Later," Cas gasped out breathily again, as Dean flicked his tongue out and over his head. "Later is much, much later,"

* * *

"I appear to be aging,"

Under the steady stream of the shower and no mirrors to suggest he was looking at himself in that moment, Cas' comment caught Dean off guard. Raising an eyebrow in question, Dean dropped his hands from where he'd been massaging shampoo through Cas' hair, and gripped him lightly around the waist.

"Aging's a weird concept for you, huh?"

Cas nodded, resting his hands on Dean's chest. "Generally, it is not, no. But for myself, of course.”

Cas took a moment to glance down at himself, mumbling, “Now that this vessel is mine—it is _me —_it appears not to be able to be sustained by my grace."

Alarmed, Dean pulled him closer so that they were skin on skin. Cas chuckled, shaking his head and pressing a reassuring kiss against Dean's chest as he felt his heart beat up wildly at his words.

"I am merely aging at the same rate as this vessel would be without... intervention."

Dean answered that by cupping Cas' face in his hands and kissing him thoroughly. When he was done, he slipped his hands back around his waist, leaning his forehead briefly against his shoulder.

"Don't scare me like that, Cas," he chided, sighing as Cas wrapped his arms tightly around his waist.

"I apologize,"

Dean continued to mumble his complaints under his breath until Cas pressed himself bodily against him and kissed his concern away. "So,” he said eventually, pressing his palms flat against Cas’ chest and stroking down until his fingers circled Cas’ waist. “How old are you anyway? I mean. This vessel of yours?"

"This vessel was born in 1973,"

Dean mumbled non-committally but raised a finger to stroke over Cas' cheek. He trailed it up, pressing his finger pads to tilt his head softly, taking in the lines around his eyes for the first time, and grinning. "Still hot," he reassured him, ducking down to kiss him once again.

Cas huffed back, a flash of blush hitting his cheeks, and curled his fingers around Dean's hips, walking him back against the shower wall.

* * *

In the park much, much later, as Cas and Dean strolled idly, hand in hand, Dean finally made some kind of order to the words that had been tormenting him since their earlier shower.

"So you're... Growing older. Same as me, right?" He asked, deliberately keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon and away from Cas.

"I am,"

"And... We're good. Right?"

Cas looked back at him curiously but nodded, "Of course,"

Dean nodded to himself, still keeping his eyes firmly forward. "And. You've no... Immediate plans. Of... You know. Leaving?"

Dean's fear that Cas would suddenly realize one day just how much better he would be without Dean in his existence was a constant burning ember in his gut. Most days, particularly as most days were actually spent _with_ Cas, and Dean could see for himself that Cas really did want to be there with him, he was able to ignore the way the ember burned into him.

But on others, like today, like with sparks of conversation that highlighted how very _other_ Cas was in contrast to him, the fear of Cas leaving him flared, leaving Dean a little blinded by it, and clutching for support.

"Dean," with that single, softly spoken word, Cas was bringing their walk to a stop and turning Dean towards him insistently. "What are you thinking?"

"I..." Dean's words trailed away uncertainly before he could even get a hold on them. Cas gave him a moment, knowing his expression meant he was trying to figure out what he wanted to say before he let himself get the words out. When he finally nodded, Cas took a tiny step back to give him space, and waited.

"I guess... I never really think too hard about it, you know? That... How you're gonna outlive me and one day maybe be walking around in another vessel, long after I'm gone."

"Dean—"

Dean's slotting of their fingers together silenced Cas' interruption.

"I'm okay with it, Cas. I mean. I get it. Sort of. I guess I just... I'm... Selfish enough, to want to not have to think about it, you know?"

"That is not selfish," Cas disagreed softly, shaking his head.

Dean shrugged, small, diverting his eyes. "Either way. Don't. I can't. I...don't like thinking about you being _gone_ , you know?"

"Dean," Cas tried again gently, unlacing their fingers and instead wrapping his arms around Dean's waist. "Firstly. I have no plans, other than for 'work', to ever leave you again. We have discussed this, multiple times,"

Dean nodded, smiled, looking every part relieved as he flicked Cas a grateful look before letting his eyes fall away again.

"And secondly. This life we lead. There are no guarantees that it will be... Long,” Cas settled for, squeezing Dean lightly. “But what time we do have, I fully intend to share as much as possible of it with you."

Dean nodded, trying and failing to keep the emotion from his face.

"Did you think otherwise?" Cas pressed on, kissing the side of his head.

"Sometimes," Dean admitted. "When... You know."

 _When_ was when he allowed his self-doubt to win. When he realized how insignificant he was compared with Cas. When Dean, even after all this time, still couldn't always believe his luck at having Cas in the first place.

"I do,” Cas assured him simply, pressing himself more fully against Dean to give him as much reassurance as possible. “I know when you doubt yourself, you doubt everything that you have. But you have me, Dean. Even when you doubt that. Especially then,"

Dean visibly relaxed, dipping to bury his face in the crook of Cas' neck and hold on tight until the very unnecessary feeling of weakness left him.

"I know it. I do, most days. I just.."

"I understand, Dean."

"And it's too much... Too selfish, and hopefully way too soon to be thinking about after—"

"Should I outlive you, Dean, there will be no possibility of me ever forgetting you. I do not believe I would even want to exist were you not here. And if you believe that I would not follow you to Heaven..."

Cas left his final sentence unfinished because there was no need for completion. Dean pressed himself a little harder into Cas' neck, then pulled back, with suspiciously bright eyes.

"Well. This conversation's got all kinds of morbid and serious," he said, in a tone that he meant to come out firm and decisive, but ended up sounding thick and stuck in his throat.

Very gently, Cas raised his hands to cup Dean's face and kissed him long, and lovingly, until the tremors he could feel in him melted away.

* * *

The _silence coming from Dean is like a scream to Cas, a never-ending piercing sensation that paralyzes him on the spot in fear._

_Cas is so distracted that it takes several seconds to register the sharp dragging sensation of the end of a blade slashed straight across his middle._

_He looks down at himself, pressing his palm_ over _his stomach and pulling it back, seeing a line of red against the pale of his hand. He can tell by the blood flow that it is merely a glancing cut, but that is not what sucks_ breath _from his lungs._

_It's that the red of the blood is mottled with black._

* * *

 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Dean squeezed Cas' hand under the table in a way that was supposed to be reassuring and nodded grimly.

"This is the third time you have seen him," Cas repeated quietly, watching both Sam and Dean nodding silently again.

"We were just getting groceries and filling up with gas, and he was just... Leaning on a wall, watching." Dean added to the story, retelling he and Sam's steps that morning.

"He didn't approach," Cas continued, exuding that quiet tone of danger he used when he feared for their safety.

"Nope. I started walking towards him, a guy drove in front of me, and by the time the truck passed, whoever he is was gone," Sam shrugged, looking to Dean to see if he wanted to add anything. When he shook his head, Sam turned his eyes back to Cas.

"Any ideas?"

"None," was all Cas could answer with, shaking his head lightly.

"Reckon we should... I don't know. Talk to him? See what he wants?"

"I would prefer you didn't engage. Not until I can find out more," Cas squeezed Dean's hand back to reiterate his words.

"Reckon he's linked to.. You know. The other, uh—"

"We do not know anything," Cas reiterated, a little more sternly this time; Sam kept his observations about how Cas and Dean had started unconsciously emulating each other’s responses to himself.

"We'll keep an eye," Dean offered, knowing it was all they could really offer and already hating that they even had to bring it up.

"You will keep yourselves as safe as possible," Cas insisted, fixing Dean with a stare daring him to disagree or start arguing back.

“Goes for you too, Cas," was what he got in return, and Dean fixed him with an almost equal glare. "I'm serious, Cas. Why don't you—"

"He is following you, not me," Cas cut in, shaking his head. "It is likely unrelated to what has happened with the angels since he has not approached me directly."

“What if it's just a ruse? To lure you in. Cas—”

“Dean,” and Cas leaned in as he spoke, pressing shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, staring until Dean relented, reluctantly, and nudged him back.

Again, Sam sat in silence, watching the way they shifted and moulded around one another, and allowed himself a private smile despite the fears for what might be ahead for them.

* * *

 

“I wish you would just... stick around for a bit.”

Cas looked up from his hand of cards and waited, fixing Dean with an ever patient gaze.

“Just... you know. Longer.” Dean shifted, showing how uncomfortable this small token of _fear_ made him feel, but didn't break the eye contact.

Cas' eyes narrowed a fraction, the corners of his lips curving up very slightly. “I assume you are not attempting to distract me so that you can see my cards,”

Dean rolled his eyes, tilting his head to the side where Sam's cards were flat, face down on the table. “If I wanted to cheat, I'd just mess with his,” he reasoned, and Cas’ smile split a little wider.

Convincing Cas to stay with them in the bunker had, in truth, been effortless. Cas spent so much time in the bunker now, that at times it was more odd _not_ to have him around, and nights like this one, with beer, cards, and easy conversation had become a staple of their evenings together.

Cas was such a natural at whatever card games Sam and Dean came up with that Dean often accused him of cheating. More than a part of his accusations were said just to get Cas to sulk, because there was nothing Dean enjoyed more than doing all the things he knew Cas liked to get him out of such moods.

All three of them were aware of this fact and tactfully said nothing about it.

Cas glanced over to where Sam had disappeared into the kitchen for more beers then leaned forward, claiming a short, firm kiss. “If you want me to stay, then I will stay.”

“Stay,” Dean whispered, breathing out a sigh of relief as Cas nudged his lips apart and opened up the kiss a little.

“Then I will stay,” he told him quietly, hand shifting around to the back of Dean's neck and holding him in place.

“Guys,” Sam pleaded, dropping the bottles down on the table with a thud and a put-upon sigh. “Can't you just—”

“Nope,” Dean interrupted, grinning and claiming his own kiss then turning to Sam. “Cas is staying for a bit. Right, Cas?”

Cas grinned back and nodded, also turning to Sam. “I am.”

Sam rolled his eyes and handed out their drinks. “So what’s new?”

* * *

 

Dean looked back over at the Impala where Cas was waiting and grinned.

Despite having joined Sam and Dean on countless hunts and Cas helping them in all manner of ways, this hunt seemed so very different to Dean. Being in the position of observer had him itching to do something to help, instead of performing his current role as mere observer, and Dean knew it didn't sit well with Cas not being able to help.

But observe he did; from the Impala, from outside stores where Sam and Dean interviewed witnesses, from across graveyards when a case ended in a salt and burn. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, no one else appeared to be watching them, and Dean failed to comment as Cas found ways to slowly get more and more involved in their cases.

It was probably for the best: a restless Cas was a distracting Cas, and if Dean wanted to keep his head in the game the last thing he needed was Cas doing all of the things he knew would give Dean dry mouth and leave his jeans uncomfortably tight.

Dean, of course, was generally more than okay with this, giving Cas secret winks behind Sam's back, gazing at him from across rooms with a long, lingering promise of what would happen the second they were alone. He'd even taken to making less subtle gestures back to match the frankly lewd ones he received from Cas, with what would look like an idle stroking of his hand over his own stomach or a stretch to release tension from his neck, that he knew would work Cas up too.

The game of almost cat and mouse teasing between them grew to such a distraction that Cas didn't notice that he himself was being watched, and Dean's stomach dropped harshly when he looked back at Cas across the parking lot and saw an unfamiliar face right up beside him and staring at Cas in contemplation.

* * *

There _is a tingle that Cas can feel ripple through him, and he knows instantly that it is the poison again. He is powerless; there is no way to remove what has already been done this time._

_It is as though he can feel the poison surging through him; the blood circulatory system of this body sucking and dragging the poison further into him, pumping it around, and spreading it out._

_There is a rumble of heat, and it feels as though every vein, artery_ and _capillary are humming with fire, flickering a violent, furious tongue of heat through every inch of him._

 _Cas lets out a gasp of pain as he falls forward, then straightens up, going perfectly rigid. His heart lurches with_ loss _, and want, and sorrow, knowing that as the poison takes a hold of him once more, he is_ utterly _, utterly useless to Dean._

_The red of the fire within him warps and wanes like lava finding its way to the surface, and Cas is sure he is going to come apart this time, to actually break._

_He doesn't want to forget Dean almost within his grip just a short distance away from him, slowly pumping his life force away._

_He can't hear the victorious cackle that is the soundtrack to the flames licking and leaping beneath the surface of his skin._

_The pain is almost unbearable; it is as though he is holding himself over a_ furnace, _while being roasted alive from the inside out. There is a wall of sound, a long, low, keening screaming mess of a sound, that Cas realizes perhaps is escaping from his own lips to serenade his pain._

 _And just as he thinks he can't take_ any more _, Cas feels himself go impossibly more rigid, and everything becomes white._

* * *

“I believed it to be nothing more than a legend,”

Dean glanced first to Sam, then back over to Cas at his mumbled words, and raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

“Heaven's got legends?” he said, not even attempting to keep the disbelief from his voice.

Cas merely nodded, his gaze dropping to where his hands were resting on his lap, with Dean watching him carefully as Cas' brow furrowed.

“Cas?” Dean tried again when Cas still didn't add anything, looking back over at Sam worriedly, though there was little Sam could do to prompt Cas any more than Dean could.

When Cas had finally noticed the angel standing beside him as he had been distracted by Dean, he had held his gaze, heard him mutter, “Justice must be served,” and watched as he disappeared.

The words had repeated in Cas' mind for all of a few moments before they stirred the echo of something deep in his memory.

Finally, Cas lifted his head, his shoulders set carefully and a pensive look lining his face. He took a moment to focus and bring his attention back to what they were discussing, and then nodded to both Sam and Dean. “The legend is called... the _Observe Stone_ , in Enochian. Although amongst the garrison it was more lately referred to as the _Medusa Head_.”

Dean snorted automatically, grinning. “A nickname?”

Cas smiled back at him, nodding a fraction. “It is not only human tendency to find alternative or shortened versions of names, Dean,”

“Guess not,” Dean grinned, and in another automatic reaction his fingers found Cas', lacing through them.

Cas glanced down at his and Dean's entwined hands for a moment, then continued. “It is said that the legend was created when God assigned duties to angels to serve as Guardian Angels on Earth.”

Sam nodded slowly, watching Cas. “Guardian Angels?”

“Yes. When Guardian Angels first came to Earth, they were given very strict obligations. To merely observe, and watch over their charges. To give them comfort through difficult times. But to do no more. To not ‘get involved’.”

“The Medusa Head was created with the sole purpose of punishing angels that would not follow those rules, who intervened with the lives of the humans that were in their care. I would be one such angel who would have been deserving of such punishment, were these same rules to be in operation currently.”

“They're not?” Dean asked, alarmed, squeezing Cas' fingers lightly at the horrifying thought of Cas receiving any kind of punishment for all he had done for them.

“No. The rules are more... guidelines now. Interference is still frowned upon, but it is no longer punishable in such ways. The methods used are not quite so... severe. If an angel is thought to be becoming too close to their charges.”

Dean sighed, closing his eyes. He remembered when Cas had disappeared on them early in their knowing each other, and that when he'd come back to them, the small steps towards easy camaraderie they had built were all gone. Cas had come back as almost a blank mask, and Dean had watched the ripple of _something_ across his face whenever he did something that he was forbidden to do to help them.

Dean wondered what kind of methods were used to produce such brain-washing, and shuddered to himself. He squeezed Cas' fingers again, part in comfort and part to encourage him to continue speaking.

“The Medusa Head was created, so that any angel that was seen to become too attached to their charges would suffer the punishment of being trapped within their vessel and unable to interact. They would merely be able to watch, and would only be released once the vessel met its natural demise.”

“'The Observe Stone,” Sam said, wide-eyed, and Cas nodded to him again.

“The punishment was supposed to be self-regulating. The Observe Stone would be made available to any angel who expressed concern that one of the Guardian Angels was straying from their path. The angel was to attempt to reason with the offending Guardian, to attempt to make them see the error of their ways. It was to be used only as a last resort. It was said to be a fitting punishment, because to an angel the human lifespan – that of their vessel, or prison, in this sense, is short.”

“So. Like... locking them up in a holding cell, observing what they've done wrong, and then they're released? When the body dies?” Dean summed up, watching as Cas nodded again.

“It is said that the angel possessing the Observe Stone would also be at risk, because to possess the Stone was to be exposed to the corruption of enhanced power.”

“Sounds more like a perk than a punishment,” Dean grumbled, turning his gaze away from Cas, but not before he caught him shaking his head.

“We are allegedly above such desires as to hold power over others. We _are_ power. To be drawn to that, it is a weakness, Dean. And to fight it, to rise above the urge to give in to the power…”

“Self-regulating,” Sam finished for him, shaking his head.

“So. You think. This... _angel_. That's been doing all of this...” Dean prompted Cas to continue when he grew silent once more.

“He believes he is carrying out God's work. And he has been corrupted by the power of the Stone. He said 'Justice must be served'. It is part of an Enochian incantation used to activate the stone.”

“And the Stone's not a stone. It's a blade, laced with some kind of constantly replenishing poison?”

“Yes.”

Sam, Cas and Dean sat in silence for a while as this information sunk in for them all, each a little lost in their own thoughts.

“So there's no way to free these angels. Maggie. Jean. The one from Ohio. They're... stuck. Unless the vessels are...”

Cas sighed heavily then, confirming Dean's suspicions.

“And what happened to you,” Dean began, his voice growing quiet as he considered how lucky he was to have Cas sat there with him right now.

“I believe this is just confirmation that what happened to me was nothing but a fluke. A... ‘happy accident’, that Jimmy was already gone, that you flushed out the poison, that...”

Cas' voice trailed away, and Dean watched again as Cas seemed to be having yet another reminder for himself about just how lucky an escape he'd really had.

“So... how'd this guy get hold of this... _stone_?” Dean asked, trying to pull Cas' attention away from whatever he was dwelling on; Dean laced their fingers together acting as anchor, until Cas could bring his attention back to them freely.

Cas shifted more uncomfortably this time, avoiding Sam and Dean's stare as he said, “During the... recent... civil war in heaven. You recall that several weapons of Heaven were lost, and scattered across the Earth? I believe he found the stone here, quite by accident.”

“And he hates humanity, so—”

“I do not believe he hates humanity, Dean. I believe, that _he_ believes, that he is merely restoring order to heaven. That those angels who _care_ for humanity are weak, and are being weakened by those that they care for.”

“So,” and Dean frowned, already suspecting Cas’ answer and hating it, wanting to fight it, before it had even been confirmed. “What happens now?”

Cas looked down at his and Dean’s joined hands, steepling their fingers together. “Now, I believe I must release the angels that… that are still trapped. And then that I must confront and attempt to reason with the angel in possession of the stone.”

Dean’s heart sank, but outwardly he smiled and leaned over to give Cas a kiss in reassurance.

* * *

 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

_He can move._

_Cas raises his hand up to his face in utter surprise, and the rest of the world drops away for a second._

_The flames have gone, as has the pain, but in its wake is weakness and confusion. Still, Dean is his first thought and priority, and he fights with his failing limbs to propel himself forward._

_“Dean,” he cries out, but the holy oil lit in a ring around Dean prevents him from taking a step further. The pain of the effort to move is excruciating, and try as he might he is not strong enough to force himself through._

_But Cas won't give up, he won't. He ignores the continual barrage of cruel words and laughter that spills into his ears. He'll find a way in, he'll find a way through, he'll —_

_Cas' head whips round to the sound of a door being kicked in, and in that_ instant _Cas thinks he has never been happier to see Sam Winchester in the entire time he has known him._

* * *

“Dumah?”

Dean repeated the name that Sam had just read out from the passage of the text he was reading and peered over his shoulder.

“Could be,” Sam said, pointing to where he was looking.

“'Dumah. The angel of silence, vindication and the stillness of death.' Kinda fits,” Dean said, glancing over the passage with a frown before repeating it out loud.

“At least, _he_ thinks it fits,” Sam added, and Dean nodded, slumping down beside him.

“If he thinks he's working in God's name. He's gonna see these connections wherever he wants,” Dean said, staring back down at the page as though it would provide them with more answers.

“Guess so,” Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair, then turning to Dean and clearing his throat, watching him.

“What?” Dean asked, shaking his head, unsure of what Sam was expecting from him, and then dropped his shoulders when he realized. “Right,”

Reluctant to burden him, or draw him into what could be danger, Dean grimaced and gave a silent prayer to Cas.

* * *

Several failed summoning spells and Dumah was yet to approach them again. Dean could do little but watch the frustration this lack of a result chased across Cas’ face, offering the comfort of touch when there was little else he could do to help.

“You can’t… seek him out another way? Catch him on the Radio or something?” Dean asked, sighing with his own frustration when Cas slowly shook his head.

“I believe the power from the Stone is enabling him to block our… attentions,” Cas told him carefully, his fingers absently playing with the corner of the pages of the book they had just read the latest summoning spell from.

“What kind of ‘justice’ does he think he’s going to serve you now, anyway?” Sam asked, fumbling for any kind of understanding or clue that might help them.

“Perhaps there is the possibility that I may be infected by the Stone a second time. Perhaps there are other angels he feels need to be punished. Perhaps—”

“Perhaps we just keep you here, and keep you safe, ‘till we know for sure, right?” Dean added, his steely tone showing no room for compromise as his hand slid purposely down Cas’ arm and laced their fingers together.

“Dean—”

“Don’t wanna hear it. You’re staying. That’s it,” Dean was adamant, and he and Cas stared at each other so long and at such short distance from one another, that Sam grew uncomfortable and fidgeted on the spot just flitting his eyes between the two of them.

“I will continue to accompany you on hunts,”

Cas’ offer of compromise was met with an under-the-breath grumble from Dean, but was accepted, as reluctantly as Dean was able to express.

* * *

In a warehouse tracking down a lead for yet another case, was where Dumah finally cornered the three of them. He took a long moment to stare at each of them with displeased disdain, and before any of them could react, he whisked Dean and Cas away.

* * *

Dean woke with his face pressed against a cool, dirty floor, raising his head slowly and running a hand over his face to wipe away whatever was still stuck there from where he’d been laid. He flexed his jaw a little, feeling as though he’d been on the receiving end of a great right hook, and for a few moments had no clue as to where he was, or what had happened.

The feel of being watched in silence had Dean freeze where he stood, and slowly pivot round on the spot.

He took in the expression on Cas’ face, the one that exuded an exterior of calm but that Dean had come to recognize as Cas in fear. The man beside him watched him back with a sneer, and a whisper in Dean’s mind reminded him of Sam’s description of the man who had been watching him, seeing that it was a perfect fit.

“Dumah,” he spat out, taking a step forward but instantly finding himself stopped in his tracks by Dumah raising a hand in his direction. A tightening sensation charged through him, and Dean found himself rooted in place.

“See how little respect these… _humans_ … have for us now, Castiel? How they dare to address us by our names instead of taking to their knees and worshipping us as they should?” An air of amusement filtered through Dumah’s words as Cas shifted uncomfortably beside him.

“That is an archaic view, Dumah. As you already know,”

Dean watched as Cas spoke carefully, almost as though Cas was hinting that he should be a little more cautious himself. Dean swallowed thickly, deciding that remaining silent might be the best option for them both, and instead fixed his eyes on Cas, looking for guidance.

“You have become too _close_ , Castiel. You have fallen, so very far, for _this_. How could you do that to yourself?” Dumah asked, with a real tone of surprise in his voice.

“Dumah,” Cas tried again, and Dean could see a flicker of worry cross Cas’ face. “There is no need for—”

“It is my _duty_ , Castiel. To bring you back home. To remind you of who you are. You are a _seraph_ , Castiel,” Dumah laughed, and began pacing. The air bristled around them, and Dean wondered if there was some kind of charge emitting from this _weapon_ that Dumah possessed.

“Do you know how many of us used to look to you for guidance, Castiel? You were one of the best of us, an angel to aspire to. You dragged the Righteous Man from _hell_ , Castiel. Can you even imagine the songs that have been sung about you? The scripture that has been written? And yet you throw it all away, to spend your existence _with_ them. With _him_ ,”

Dean’s throat caught as Dumah’s short monologue came to an end, as his eyes fixed glaringly on Dean.

“Is it because he is a beautiful example of our father’s work? Is that why you have allowed him to—”

“It has nothing to do with _aesthetics_ , Dumah,” Cas tried hastily, and Dean found himself half blushing, half flinching under the strange form of praise Dumah had given him.

Dumah continued to observe Dean with a slight head tilt that was far too Cas-like for Dean’s comfort.  

“But it does make things more… pleasant, I presume,” Dumah settled for, still staring, as though he was trying to figure out for himself exactly why Cas would have chosen to be with him.

“We do not live in the world we once lived in, Dumah,” Cas tried rationalizing, but his words were met with a scornful laugh.

“ _We_ do not live in the World, Castiel. We are not supposed to dwell here for longer than our duties require us. You are not even a Guardian Angel, yet you have taken on the role of one. I cannot fathom why.” Dumah’s eyes narrowed a touch, and he stepped forward, inspecting Dean as he walked in a slow circle around him, all the while with Dean being unable to move.

“Perhaps that is where we are wrong. That we keep ourselves so separate from our charges, and—”

“That is the _point_ , Castiel. We _are_ separate. We are angels, Castiel. We were not meant to walk this earth. We were not meant to _walk_ at all.” Dumah seemed to vibrate with righteous fury, and Dean felt a cold wash of unease trickle through him.

Cas took a step forward himself, uncomfortable with the closeness of Dumah to Dean. Dean watched Cas’ hands flare out by his sides as though preparing for fight, and tried to shout for him to leave, but an out-of-nowhere blow to the side of his face had his words struck from him.

Dumah looked down at his own hand, the one he had just hit Dean with, and grimaced, wiping it down the side of his pant leg in disgust. “You should teach it some manners, Castiel. About speaking only when spoken to. About—”

“This is not about him. This is about me. Let him go, Dumah,” Cas pulled himself up to full height, cutting Dumah’s words off, and Dean watched him struggle to appear calm. There was clearly something about Dumah’s presence that was affecting Cas that Dean couldn’t currently understand.

Dean had seen Cas take down angels, and demons, and everything else in this world without the slightest sign of tiring or apprehension. Something about this power Dumah was exuding was doing something to him, and Dean’s heart pounded in fear for Cas’ safety, as well as his own.

With a sudden, violent shove, Dumah flung Cas across the room.

“Cas!” Dean cried out instantly to see him crumple against the wall, earning himself another blow to the head.

At the sound of Dean’s voice, Cas was upright, rushing back towards both he and Dumah, but as he got within around a foot of him, a wall of fire encircled both of them, keeping Cas trapped on the outside.

Dean sniffed, groaning inwardly at the recognizable smell of holy oil, and saw a further layer of panic on Cas’ face.

“Here is what is going to happen, Castiel,” Dumah continued speaking as though nothing had happened. “This human is going to die. His sacrifice will remind you of who you are: I would suggest that you be the one to kill him, but I suspect you are so badly tainted by him that you would not be able to bring yourself to do so. So I will do it for you,” Dumah spoke as though he was offering Cas the greatest of favors, and Dean felt his heart pound even harder at the fear in Cas’ eyes that he was no longer attempting to hide.

“You are going to return to Heaven. You are going to carry out God’s work from there. You are not going to return to Earth until you can see these Humans for what they are, Castiel.”

“I—”

“You will _repent_ , Castiel. Either willingly, or with our help—”

“The last time Heaven _helped_ Cas _repent_ , he came back to us as nothing but a shell,” Dean barked out suddenly, and lurched to the side as Dumah struck him once again.

“Do not speak to me,” Dumah seethed, his hand suddenly tight around Dean’s throat. He held him for a moment, then tossed him away as though he was something disposable, and turned his full attention back to Cas.

“Your human is making this task easier with his insolence. I will experience great satisfaction in watching the life drain away from him.”

“No!” Cas yelled, taking a step forward but being thrown back again by the flames.

“I will even be kind, Castiel,” Dumah continued as though he hadn’t heard him.

Out of nowhere, a wide, thick blade appeared in Dumah’s hand, and Dean found himself attempting to back away from him but still frozen in place, his eyes fixed firmly on the _Medusa Head_.

Dumah brought the blade up in front of his own face, admiring it as though he was still in wonder at its existence being in his possession. “This blade. The _power_ is… unimaginable, Castiel,” he whispered, almost to himself. After a moment of staring at the weapon he seemed to remember both Dean and Cas were still there, and cleared his throat.

“I have seen what this blade does to the human body, Castiel,” Dumah said in a conversational tone that set Dean even further on edge. “I assume it must be quite painful from the way I watched the others die. For you, Castiel, I will spare this human that fate.”

Casually, and in what appeared to Dean slow motion, Dumah withdrew a further blade from his jacket, plunging it hard into Dean’s stomach, and turned away from him.

* * *

 _The fury in Sam's eyes Cas thinks he hasn't seen since Sam was high on demon blood. Dumah's own face registers surprise for a moment_ , _before his lips curve into a menacing grin, and he holds Sam's eye contact as he strikes out without looking._

_The sound of the blow he has struck to Dean's head is loud enough to resound thickly around the room, and Cas can't stop the moan of despair that escapes from his lips as he tries so desperately to reach for Dean._

_The blow serves only to anger Sam more. Cas watches as with astonishing strength, Sam douses the flames and throws himself bodily at Dumah. Dumah is already surprised and off guard, and Cas takes that window of opportunity to start the painful dragging and crawling he must force himself to do in order to reach Dean, all the while hearing the constant thud and break of Sam pummelling his fists against flesh._

_When Cas finally reaches Dean he whimpers in relief to feel his skin beneath his own, not even looking at the pool of blood that wicks up the knees of his pants where he kneels. There is the tiniest flutter of a pulse, and Cas wills his grace to work, to heal Dean, to at least stave off the bleeding; to not fail him now, when it is so vital that it doesn’t._

_Sam's rageful pounding and cursing goes on like a nightmarish soundtrack in the background, as Cas sobs to himself, feeling his highly weakened grace do barely enough to help Dean. He might be too late, his brain might be too deprived of oxygen, he might have lost too much blood. And Cas can do nothing else to save him._

_There has never been a time in Cas’ long existence that he has felt so truly useless than in this moment, when he is at risk of losing the only thing that has ever mattered to him._

_Cas wraps himself around Dean as though simple touch can fix him, hearing a surprise sucking in of breath as Sam finally grows tired of the wounds he's inflicting with his fists_ , _and stabs Dumah solidly through the chest._

_Cas looks up for a second to see the bright whiteness that signals Dumah is finally gone, and it's over, absently questioning himself about where Sam had managed to find the angel blade. And then Sam is falling to his knees beside him, grabbing Dean's lulling head, cradling it gently and calling his name over and over._

_Cas closes his eyes, feels himself utterly and thoroughly exhausted, and knowing he will soon be succumbing to sleep._

_With his last ounce of strength, Cas fixes on a location where Dean can receive the help that Cas cannot himself give him, and transports the three of them away._

* * *

 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

_Extreme blood loss. Cerebral Swelling. Persistent vegetative state._

Dean could hear the muted discussions of what was happening to him somewhere off to his side, and identified Sam's worried questions from Cas' rumbling ones, as well as an unknown voice that he presumed was a doctor.

When Dean had first woke, he was disoriented, confused, his head feeling as though there was a very distinct separation between his thoughts and his actions.

Dean felt now as though he was floating, suspended in animation, and falling, all at once. He could feel when the medical staff – and he had to presume that he was in a hospital, because he could hear the constant beeping of machinery that echoed constant care – ran their tests, attempting to get him to respond.

It was odd; he could feel the press of their instruments, the touch of Sam and Cas when they curled their fingers through his, even Cas' gentle kisses to his face, and lips, whenever it was only the two of them in the room. But he could not _feel_ ; not pain, not movement, nor anything else.

All he could _see,_ was _black_.

Dean screamed, beating at the walls of his mind, raging and screeching, trying to make contact, trying to let them know he was there. If he was awake, he knew he would have screamed his throat raw, but as it was, he continued to lay there, mutely and unmoving, while those he cared most for in the world sat and fret by his side.

Dean knew he had been out for a few days, and he was unable to work out how many. But he had been _awake_ now for four; he'd been monitoring, as much as he could, working out the passage of time by the voices of those that spoke to him and his own normal sleep rhythms that seemed to carry on regardless despite his _vegetative state_.

Being fully lucid and being completely trapped within himself, Dean still fought away words like _coma_ and _permanent_ , allowing himself only to feel an understanding for what Cas must have been feeling when this had happened to him.

Dean didn't know what was worse: witnessing this happening to someone he loved, or going through it himself.

The way he was trapped and helpless, hearing everything going on around him but not being able to interact, was utter torture. The doctors and nurses and their constant prodding and questioning seemed belittling and condescending: didn't they know how hard he was fighting to answer them back, and to move?

Sam gave a continual string of updates, and reassurance, telling him to fight, like he wouldn't already be doing that. On occasion when it was just Sam and Dean in the room, Sam curled his hand around Dean’s arm, and quietly begged him to wake. This clawed at Dean, making him feel weak, and useless: how could he leave his brother like that? When it had always been his job to protect him? How could he cause him so much worry?

Cas, though. Everything with Cas, hurt so much worse.

Cas' fingers gripped through his own were grounding, as were those gentle kisses that sometimes only graced his knuckles; Dean could tell whether Sam was in the room or not, just from the kinds of kisses Cas gave him.

Cas' words to him were both soothing and seering; hearing the sheer pain Cas was going through having to watch over him so helplessly made Dean feel all kinds of wrecked, and such _guilt_.

And the feel of Cas' tears, silently leaking down Dean's forearm from where he rested his head at night, refusing to leave Dean's side; that might have been the hardest thing for him to bear.

Dean wanted to reach out, and touch, and to soak up Cas' touch, but could only lay there helplessly as he suffered.

* * *

_The cruel sense of irony that it is now he who is watching Dean in a coma as he had once done for him, is not lost on Cas. That he can do nothing to help – nothing human nor angel will do anything to speed this coma along – is turning him into a raging pit of useless fury, pent up with rage that he has no way of channeling._

_Dumah is gone; Cas can't even get the satisfaction of getting to the root of the source now, to find some sort of temporary release from his own fury._

_All he can_ do, _is watch._

_Cas is thankful that Sam’s idea of a locating spell to keep tabs on all three of them, in case Dumah had done exactly as he had and separated them, had worked so effectively. He is beyond grateful that Sam arrived when he did, and did what he did, and gave him the time and freedom to get Dean away to a hospital where he could be treated._

_It is his frustration at his own sense of uselessness that is making him bitter, and biting, and snapping at Sam’s every word._

_The tension between he and Sam has reached breaking point, with both of them almost circling over Dean in a possessive battle for who will protect him more. It is ridiculous, they both know that, but in their worry they are neither of them able to back down or see things rationally._

_Sam, however, does have rights as next of kin, and Cas thinks to himself that he will do something to amend that situation, just as soon as Dean is well enough again. Not that Sam doesn’t have every right to care for his brother; it’s just that Dean is his, and he should be the one there for every difficult conversation. His presence should not be questioned by well-meaning doctors._

_Dean is his and he is Dean’s, and the moment he is awake…_

_Cas bunches up his fists, feeling his fingernails digging into the softness of his palm, and wills himself to calm by taking in his surroundings._

_Sam insisted that Cas leave Dean's side, even if it were only for a short time. They had argued, as they have been doing constantly since Dean came out of surgery. The argument started off quietly and then grew loud enough for a nurse to come over and ask them to keep it down; Sam had looked chastised, but all Cas felt was more anger._

_With this nightmare going on and on, Sam cares about Cas just as much as he always does, and Cas knows that. But it isn't going to make it any easier for him to wrench himself away from Dean. Despite how helpless he feels._

_Without Dean, where is there for Cas to go? Why don’t any of them seem to be able to understand that?_

_Which is how Cas finds himself back in that room where Dean had almost bled to death, where Dumah had found his death at the end of Sam's fury. And where the Medusa Head blade lays, looking perfectly innocuous on the floor, amongst soot stains and blood smears and all kinds of other debris._

_Cas stands staring down at it for several minutes, then squats and does the same from that angle too. He reaches out, nudges a finger against the blade and hears its harsh slide against the floor beneath it, feels the surge of power rushing through him just at this tiny amount of contact._

_Cas swallows hard; he knows that sense of power, knows it is a potent drug that he is just as susceptible to as any other angel. Perhaps even more so, having done what he has done in the past, having seen what he has seen._

_Carefully, Cas slips a thumb beneath the blade's handle and wraps his fingers around, gripping it tightly and lifting it to eye level. The surge of potential flows through him enough to make him stumble, and Cas has to reach out a hand to the floor to steady himself for a moment._

_When he's centered himself he stands, eyes still on this weapon in his hands that can, and has, done so much damage._

_Swallowing thickly to himself, Cas shakes his head, although there is no one there to see. He does not want power. He does not need to serve justice to anyone. He needs to get this weapon back where it belongs, away from where it could do further harm._

_Cas wonders for a moment if it would be better just to destroy the weapon outright, but that power he feels surging through it tells him that would be difficult to achieve._

_Instead, he allows himself to breathe deeply, and concentrates. He needs to go home, and laughs coldly at the term. Heaven is about as far from home as it could possibly be, Cas thinks, because that is how much Dean has changed him._

_Dean. Dean is home._

_It isn't as though Dean is far from his thoughts for more than a few moments anyway, but just thinking his name sets off a frantic feeling of longing, and Cas wants this task over and to be back by Dean's side, as soon as possible. Despite and in spite of Sam’s protests._

_And so Cas concentrates. It is so much harder now to transport himself anywhere; his energy has to be focused, and he cannot allow himself a single distraction. He supposes there are worse side effects of the poison from the weapon resting in his palm, forces himself to think only of the location he needs to be going in, and disappears from the room_.

* * *

_Egypt._

_Cas looks around himself, baffled, unable to understand what he is doing in this bustling tourist district so close to the pyramids. He shakes his head, focuses again, and moves_.

* * *

_Rio de Janeiro._

_Cas finds himself looking up, startled, from amongst the crowds at the base of the Christ the Redeemer statue. He shakes his head again, feeling disoriented, and a growing sense of unease begins to unfurl within him. Because he knows this is more than missing his target. And he knows that something is very, very wrong._

_He braces himself for a third time, setting his shoulders squarely as he transports himself yet again_.

* * *

_Mombasa. Seoul. Hanoi. Tokyo. Edinburgh. London._

* * *

_Each time Cas tries to transport himself to Heaven, to return this awful weapon he still wields in his hand, he ends up in another city on Earth._

_Panic has already set in; he returns to the bunker, feeling it is the safest place he has access to, to secure the weapon momentarily whilst he tries out a theory that is scratching away in his mind._

_He stores the weapon, glancing briefly around him and letting the sense of comfort that he gets from the bunker wash over him for the moment, and steady him._

_Shakily, Cas steels himself once again, focusing ever harder on his target, and disappears_.

* * *

It had been about two weeks since Dean had woken up within his coma, and that first feeling of frustration at not being able to move had not let up. The frustration grew with the more broken Cas seemed by his side; Dean heard Sam and Cas arguing, both of them at breaking point and unwilling to leave him alone, whilst still trying to look out for one another. Dean wanted nothing more than to jump in, tell Sam to quit ragging on Cas, that things were difficult enough as they were without them constantly bickering.

Dean heard Sam yawn and stretch, his bones popping as he uncurled from where he had slept uncomfortably by Dean's side all night after forcibly insisting Cas take a turn off.

Dean heard Sam's mumbled thanks, a rustle of paper and a sip, and assumed that Cas had brought Sam coffee. The thought made Dean's heart surge with affection for Cas and miss him so painfully, it was the closest thing to a feeling as he had had since this whole nightmare had started.

A quiet shuffle; Dean pictured Cas removing his trenchcoat. A soft scrape: he presumed Cas was pulling a chair up closer to him. The gentle caress of Cas' fingers across his palm before they laced through his own, followed by another palm resting on his cheek as Cas bent down and kissed him, lips lingering together for several moments with no way for Dean to reciprocate no matter how hard he willed himself to.

Cas pressed his forehead against Dean's and let out a heavy sigh, before he finally sat down, pressing kisses to the back of Dean's hand for what seemed like a long few minutes.

 _Hey, Cas,_ Dean thought to himself, willing his hand to squeeze Cas' back.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas mumbled, and Dean wanted to just scream at how badly he missed him, even with him being so close.

Cas shuffled in his chair and sighed again, as though it was impossible to get comfortable. Dean imagined the soft, concerned look Cas would probably be giving him now, and bathed in it as though affection alone would bring him back to himself.

“You look well, Dean. The bruising has all but gone, and your stitches have come out; I am sure you are aware of this already, but I thought I would tell you that the wound is healing well. The swelling to your face has also gone; you are as well as you can be.”

“The doctors have told us that you are improving, and that we must be patient. I do not like patience, and I do not like being unable to help you, Dean. I feel… inadequate, that I have failed you somehow. Sam insists I should not feel this way and that I should try to talk to you about things other than my ‘misplaced guilt’. I do not know what Sam speaks to you of when you are alone together, but I hope you have been enjoying me reading to you.”

Dean thought about that, silently thanking Sam for pushing Cas to not blame himself, and wished with all he had that he could be the one to do that—that this wasn’t even happening to them at all. Both Sam and Cas continued to talk to him whilst he was in this coma as though he was still there and able to speak back to them; he wanted so much to tell Cas that he could hear them both, loud and clear, every last word of it.

More than anything, Dean wanted to tell Cas how much he loved hearing him read to him, just hearing his voice in general, just _having_ him present, and that it gave him hope to cling to as he laid there so prone and defenseless. He wanted to tell him so many things, but perhaps in karmic reflection, this time the words were willing where his body was not.

Dean hammered desperately at the wall in his mind that stopped him from moving, and speaking, and strained for Cas' voice, since he could have nothing else of him.

“There is something I must discuss with you, Dean,” Cas continued, and alarm bells went off for Dean at his tone, making him pummel even harder for his freedom. “I have... debated. I have checked. I wanted to be certain. But I believe I...”

Dean willed himself to move, to lean over to Cas, to ask why he'd stopped speaking. The coma continued to hold him back, to force patience on his impatience, to make him wait.

“Sam continues to tell me to talk to you of positives, but Dean… we have grown to be so honest with each other, and I would feel I am failing you if I am not honest with you now. I do not wish you to worry. But I believe…”

Cas’ voice trailed away again, leaving Dean desperate, pressing hard against the barriers between them with all that he had, and still failing.

Cas cleared his throat and let out a soft sigh, continuing. “When Dumah captured you, and wounded you, he also attempted to inflict injury on me once more.”

Dean screamed to be able to sit up, to reach for him, to check Cas over with his own hands, to reassure himself that Cas was okay.

Oblivious to Dean’s struggle, Cas carried on telling his tale. “The cut was minimal, but it was made with the _Medusa Head_. The poison. I believe... Dean,”

On the crack of Cas’ words, Dean’s heart like it had started to pound furiously, despite the lack of movement on the heart monitor still beeping steadily by his side. Cas’ hesitant tone, and seeming difficulty to find the right words, made him near frantic.

“I cannot return to heaven,” Cas continued, and in Dean’s panic and incapacity, he couldn’t tell what Cas was thinking about his own statement. He couldn’t even read his tone. “I cannot... I am trapped in this vessel. I can... heal, both myself and people. And I can... travel. I can use my grace. But... I cannot return to heaven, Dean. I must remain here. On Earth. For as long as this vessel survives. And after… I must admit, Dean, that I have no idea what will become of me _after_.”

Dean's panic jolted in his gut, and Dean convinced himself his heart was about to jump out of his chest at Cas’ words.

“I think, Dean, that as you would say, you are ‘stuck with me’, for the inevitable future. I hope that you do not object.”

Dean cried out, aching to tell Cas that of course that was okay, but that of course it wasn’t long enough, that Cas was eternal, and that what was happening to him was beyond unfair, beyond justifiable, and something that they would fight together to fix. But all of those words remained unspoken as he felt Cas raise his hand, press kisses to each of his knuckles, and sigh against his skin.

“I cannot pretend I am disappointed at the prospect of growing old with you, Dean, for that is what I must do now. It was my intention to do so regardless, but now that my options are removed from me... I am... humbled. I... have been away from Heaven for long enough to know...”

Cas' voice trailed away yet again, and Dean could scream for how hard he was fighting to move himself; if he was slamming his hands so hard against an actual wall his wrists would be bloody by now, and his knuckles busted open with his efforts.

“You have been sleeping for more than two weeks now, Dean,” Dean heard Cas tell him decisively, as though he needed to change the subject. “The doctors believe that this type of coma should last no more than four weeks. I would ask that you wake up now, Dean. I... miss you, so very, very much. I would like to go _home_ with you. And perhaps when you are recovered we can take some time for ourselves, a vacation, or...”

To Dean's utter dismay, he heard a soft, broken sob escape from Cas' lips, followed by a telltale snuffle, and imagined a hand being wiped across Cas' face to wipe those tears away.

“I need you, Dean. I need you so very much. There is... more, to discuss... that I... I will wait for you to wake before I… Dean. Please come back to me. I feel so alone without you,”

More alarm bells went off for Dean, listening to Cas struggle beside him. He felt Cas lean down over him again, and tried to lean into the kisses that he felt pressed to his forehead, eyes, cheeks, lips. Silent tears dripped from Cas' eyes and on to Dean's face; a gentle thumb swiped over to wipe them all away.

“Please wake up, Dean. Please. Come home to me,”

* * *

 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

_Of all the roles Cas has taken on, that of executioner is the one that haunts his thoughts and makes him question if there truly is anything left in him that can be considered good._

_But as Dean remains in his coma, and he and Sam are out of arguments, and_ there _is so little else for him to be doing right now, this is the role he has appointed himself with._

_He can't, and won't, block out the broken sobbing of Vincent beside him as he resolutely refuses to hear Cas' words. Cas intends to take his wife away permanently after all: it must be one thing knowing that his wife is already long gone, and another entirely accepting it, Cas thinks sadly to himself._

_When the angel who had given himself the name Peter had contacted him on Angel Radio, Cas had known that it would come to this. That he would have to be the one to free the other angels from their prison by killing what was left of the vessel that left the angel trapped, and bound to the Earth._

_And here he is, trying to do good, and causing nothing but hurt no matter what he does. It is, Cas feels, unhappily, the story of his life._

_"And you're sure there's no other way?" Vincent_ asks, _his tone one that suggests he already knows his question is pointless. Cas looks at the desperate way Vincent clings to his wife, knowing that her body is the prison keeping the angel Maggie from her freedom. He thinks for a moment about what he would do if it were Dean_ laying _there in the same circumstances, and feels a sudden chill of fear wash through him._

_"I am sorry, Vincent," Cas offers helplessly, hastily reining his wandering thoughts in. "There is nothing further I can do. For either of them."_

_More sobbing fills the room, and Cas considers leaving anyway, leaving Vincent with the shell of his wife if that is what he thinks he needs. But as he takes a step back, he hears Vincent clear his croaking throat and watches as he stands, shaking his head._

_"I'm just... I'm glad Lizzie's at school," he whispers, fingers still entwined tightly with_ Mag's _. “I’m glad she’s not here to see this. I’m glad she doesn’t need to say goodbye to her mom all over again,”_

_"I am sorry," Cas says again, knowing it is pointless._

_"You do me a favor, Castiel," Vincent demands in a loud whisper then, and Cas is surprised by both the force of his words and the grip on his arm._

_"Anything that I can," Cas promises, although he is afraid of what Vincent will request. What can he possibly give him that will help?_

_"Make it painless. Make it quick," Vincent says, his voice cracking as he interrupts himself to lean down and kiss his wife one last time. "And... You make sure you love Dean right, okay? You... You survived this thing. Gotta be a reason for it. So you love, with all that you've got, you hear me?"_

_Cas takes in the demand in his_ words, _and fixes Vincent with a stare as he straightens and looks back at him. "I do. I will. I always will."_

 _Cas waits for Vincent's nod of permission, then steps forward, gently pressing his fingers to Mag's forehead for a moment. And then she is gone_.

* * *

Cas _leaves Vincent as soon as he is done, knowing he will likely never see the man again. He takes a moment to recover from his_ flight, _and finds himself hating the_ now too-familiar _weakness he feels as a result._

_In a way that is probably selfish, he is glad that both Jean and Peter are already gone: having to end the human 'life' to release his angelic brothers and sisters is not a task that he is ever going to forget, or ever not feel mixed remorse for having to do._

_There's just the angel left in Ohio, and Cas stands now, looking at the barn where he had first laid eyes upon her. Back when he was still recovering from the same thing that had left the other angels immobile, and he and Dean were yet_ to _be._

_Seeing this particular angel sparks more fear in him than Cas would like to admit: the way they had found her, battered and abandoned, could absolutely have been his own fate were it not for Dean._

_Cas torments himself sometimes. Wonders if this angel, that he still doesn't know the name of, was trying to get to someone who cared about_ her, _like he had done with Dean. Even during_ their _most difficult of times, Cas had known that he could count on Dean for help._

_He wonders then if this angel had never had that, or if she cared for humans that never reciprocated that care. It makes him unbelievably sad, and he shakes his head, squares his shoulders, swallows down the bile in his mouth at the thought of seeing Josh again._

_Cas is pleased to see that the hunter Josh is wary of him. Despite his hospitality following their visit and the numerous apologies he had offered, Cas still cannot get over the brutal way Josh had treated the angel before they had arrived. Even though it was a case of mistaken identity._

_Cas knows, from his own personal experience, that the angel would have been able to feel every strike, and every bruise slapped into her skin. He couldn't quite forgive him at the time of their first meeting, and Cas finds he still can't quite forgive him now._

_He is also pleased to see that Josh has attempted to make the angel as comfortable as possible. She is on a mattress with a pillow beneath her head and layers of blankets tucked in around her. And from the looks of things, Josh has been going out of his way to at least keep her clean._

_The angel is painfully emaciated though, and for another long moment, Cas thinks about his own fate were it not for Dean._

_Josh is more than happy for Cas to take the angel 'off his hands', and whilst Cas scowls at the admission, he finds he understands. There is absolutely nothing Josh can do to help, and this is not a burden he ever chose to bear._

_With a sigh that borders on self-loathing, Cas presses his fingertips gently to the angel's head, and breaths out in both sadness and relief. He can already hear Maggie loud and clear on Angel Radio, and the thick, sluggish voice trying to talk to him now must be of the angel he has just freed._

_Kathy, he_ hears, _and smiles sadly. At least he now has a name._

 _His work here is done, and now it is time to go home. To go to Dean_.

* * *

When people said that there was brightness when you woke from a coma, Dean could now see what that had meant. When he first woke, first there was the red of viewing the world from behind too-long closed eyelids. Then there was the sensation of noise that just _sounded_ bright, as though the very air around him was buzzing. And there was the bright, _whiteness_ of it all, as he slowly opened his eyes to stare blankly up at the ceiling as though he was opening his eyes for the very first time.

Dean took a soft gasp for himself, and another as he felt his chest rise and fall.

Slowly, Dean flexed the fingers on his right hand, and when they responded, he shakily raised his arm to his elbow, looking at his hand curiously and half-frightened this was nothing more than a dream.

When he was satisfied that this wasn't an illusion, that his arm was really there, and that he had total control of it, he attempted to repeat his movement with his left. He rolled his wrist, stroking his fingertips against the bedsheets and stilled, realising he could move his arm no further.

Tilting his head in what felt like slow motion, Dean gasped, seeing that the reason he couldn't move was Cas, his forehead resting against Dean's forearm and pinning him there in his sleep.

Dean gave another gasp, and hesitantly reached his free hand across the bed to run his fingers lightly through the back of Cas’ hair, groaning out lightly at the texture he felt there, that he felt he hadn’t got to touch for what seemed like years.

He kept up his steady, gentle stroking, lightly working through the strands, and swallowing thickly in memory of other times when he'd curled his fingers just like this in an altogether more intimate setting. Until he felt Cas first mumble in approval, then go completely still against him, and finally sit up with such shock that Dean’s hand fell heavily to his stomach with a soft thud.

“Dean,” he breathed, not giving him the chance to respond before he was surging forward and kissing him hard.

The kiss was full of relief, and love, and Dean wanted desperately to respond. But both his body and mind were sluggish, and all he could do was lay there as Cas peppered kisses to every inch of his face, and neck, before claiming his lips briefly once more and burying himself in the crook of Dean's neck.

With Cas’ full upper body pinning him down, Dean was even less able to move, but the choked sob he heard, and the hot breath followed by a wetness on his neck that told him Cas was crying, had Dean forcing himself to raise his unsteady arms and wrap them as best as possible around Cas to reassure him he was there.

The second Cas felt Dean's hands on him he groaned out loudly, as though he had been deprived of Dean's touch for far too long. Cas raised himself just enough to wrap his own arms around Dean tightly, before burying himself back into Dean's neck and nuzzling into him.

A broken, "I missed you," made Dean ache for Cas, wishing there was something more he could do. He tried to coax him out with gentle words and by rubbing his hands as soothingly as possible over Dean's back, but all he felt was Cas shaking his head against him and his lips and tears against his neck.

Eventually, when Cas had calmed himself a little, he rolled himself back and leaned in to kiss Dean once again. When Cas tried to deepen the kiss, Dean pulled back, slightly embarrassed. Dean gripped a little harder onto Cas as a wave of hurt washed over him, and shook his head once to show there was nothing meant by him pulling away.

"I can't taste too good," Dean mumbled, surprised at how quiet his own voice was after so long of not being used.

"I don't care. I don't," Cas told him adamantly, and proved that by insistently nudging Dean's lips apart to allow him access.

Dean could feel his own tears begin to leak down his cheeks, and in another second found himself rocked and soothed in Cas' arms, surprised by the force of his feelings and his sheer relief at being awake.

"You are never to do that again," Cas told him brokenly, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him until his tears mingled with Dean's on his cheeks.

"I'll try," Dean promised, thickly, holding on to Cas as though he were an actual lifeline.

"Never," Cas repeated, kissing him hard once more, before pressing their foreheads together and letting out a long sigh of relief.

* * *

Staying awake had become a feat of monumental proportions that knocked Dean harder than he thought any other previous injury had done. He'd managed twenty-seven minutes the first time, according to Cas, who hadn't left Dean's bedside at all since the moment he'd first opened his eyes. Thirty-four the next time, and fifty-six minutes was his current record, and every time he woke and stretched his limbs, Dean felt a little closer back to normality.

The headaches he could do without, admittedly, but even they were blurring around the edges and becoming a little more manageable. Manageable enough for Dean to discharge himself, slump down on Cas in the back of the Impala and tiredly ask Sam to drive them home.

Whatever advice the hospital may have offered Dean for recovery was overshadowed by Cas' need to make him well again. On the drive back to the bunker, Dean had been jostled awake by Cas' loud insistence to Sam to pull over at a pharmacy, where he proceeded to buy every product known to man to help Dean recover.

Countless times, Dean had woken to heated arguments between Cas and Sam about how best to care for him. And as Dean was so exhausted by even the slightest activities, all he could really do was lay there, and observe them.

Cas had been so careful with him, and so attentive, Cas seemed frightened that Dean might actually break before his very eyes. Cas had taken such care of him that Dean would never have enough thanks to give Cas for all he'd done. But as Dean felt Cas carefully tucking in a blanket around him after he'd dozed off reading for what felt like the hundredth time, Dean finally felt his frustration begin to bubble to the surface. 

Dean craved physical contact, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in Cas' arms and know he would wake up there, rather than alone with Cas sat next to and keeping a constant eye on him.

He wanted _normal_.

"Gotta stop treating me with kid gloves, Cas," he warned, wishing his words had come out with more force behind them instead of the feeble whisper that sounded pathetic even to his own ear.

Despite the weakness of Dean's voice, Cas paused, guilty and mid-caught out, with his hands tugging on the blankets so that there was no draft up Dean's back, still hovering over him worriedly.

"Best way for you to make sure I'm keeping warm enough? Just... Climb in, would you?" Dean idly patted the bed beside him, never removing his eyes from Cas'. "And if you give me some crap about me needing to get better—"

"It is not 'crap', Dean. You do. And I have been laid beside you every night since your return to the bunker," Cas corrected him, going back to his earlier fussing.

"Yeah," Dean laughed quietly, shaking his head. " _Next to._ Not _with_. You know I sleep better when you're here with me instead of laying there like some... Sentry on guard.”

Cas' face rippled with indecision and Dean could see the conflict even if it wasn't voiced out loud.

"Cas," he tried again, raising a hand to grip lightly around Cas' wrist to still his movements. "I'm good, okay? The... wound's healing good, my head's back to normal, I'm... I'm doing better, Cas. Just... I want you to..."

Dean's words dwindled away, leaving Cas' brow to furrow in doubt. He waited for three, perhaps four seconds, and then shifted, gently pulling back the blankets as he kicked off his shoes, wriggled quickly out of his pants and shirt, and slid in beside Dean until he hummed at the feel of Dean’s skin touching his own.

"There, see?" Dean whispered, pressing himself up against Cas, draping a leg between his and sliding his hand across the flat of Cas' stomach until he could tuck his fingers around his waist. He nuzzled against Cas' chest before dropping his head there, and sighing. "Better already,"

Cas wrapped his arms around Dean a little tighter, and gave a rueful smile as Dean propped himself up by his chin on Cas' chest. He raised a hand to cup Dean's face, lightly stroking his thumb across his cheek.

"Thank you for taking care of me," Dean told him honestly, injecting as much sincerity into his words as his tiredness would allow.

"Always," Cas assured him, swallowing thickly.

"I'm sorry I'm so... Feeble right now," Dean complained, fighting to keep his eyes open. "I promise. When I'm back to normal, I'll—"

Cas cut off Dean's words by angling himself forward and pulling Dean down into a kiss, before rolling them on to their sides and holding on tightly as Dean fell asleep once again.

* * *

Dean’s recovery was slow-going, much slower than any of them had anticipated, and much, much too slowly for Dean not to grow impatient with his own inabilities to get better, and now. He joked about growing old, secretly worrying that it was probably a contributing factor to his painfully slow recovery, and for every line of worry he caused to crease into Sam and Cas’ face he scored double on his own.

But he did allow them to help, albeit reluctantly, and not without grumbling through tasks he thought he should be able to do himself. He kept his sarcastic comments to a minimum and even bit his tongue when their heated discussions continued about what was best for him as though he wasn’t there in the room with them as they shouted at one another.

Dean secretly felt a surge of affection and felt himself smiling smugly every time Cas argued back, and was more than a little relieved to know that neither of them would ever actually ask him to take sides. Because he really wasn’t sure which way his decision would go. He was, by his own words, whipped, and had a feeling that Cas might win his loyalty time after time, if only for very carnal reasons. Not that he was in much shape to indulge in such things yet, Dean thought to himself with a scowl.

Life was slowly trickling back to normal though: Sam started going out on simpler solo cases, with Cas joining him on the slightly more complicated ones, and only after hours of reassurance from Dean that he would manage a few hours on his own without constant supervision. Even if he hated being alone, and spent the entire time they were both gone worrying and feeling guilty that he couldn’t be there with them.

On one particular hunt, when Sam and Cas had been delayed and their cells were unreachable, Dean had worn himself out pacing the bunker. He woke as Cas lifted him up from where he'd slumped over one of the chairs in the library, letting his head fall heavily onto Cas' shoulder as he carried him effortlessly to their room.

"What happened?" Dean asked thickly, before groaning out softly as he felt the softness of the mattress beneath his back.

"We were delayed," was all Cas offered, and Dean snorted in response. Dean saw the corners of Cas' mouth twitch up in amusement before he bent down over him to claim a kiss.

"You both okay?" He asked, sighing contentedly as he arched up into Cas' kiss.

"We are both fine, Dean. If you would give me a moment I will check on Sam; he has a cut I would like to heal properly now that we are back."

"Had to leave in a hurry, huh?" Dean asked, lifting and winding his fingers though Cas' as he stood and bent back down to kiss him once more.

"Yes," Cas told him simply, "But there is nothing for you to worry about,"

Dean rolled his eyes but smiled, nodding as Cas turned to leave. He had perhaps five minutes alone, before Cas was back and climbing back in the bed beside him.

Cas rolled Dean until they were facing one another, and his gentle kisses became more insistent as he pressed himself firmly against him.

Sparks of arousal flared in Dean's abdomen, and a wave of frustration hit him knowing that he couldn't do much about that without likely falling asleep in the middle of anything and everything that he wanted to do.

As if reading his mind, Cas offered him a grin that was nothing short of mischievous. Dean laid pliant, as Cas rolled him on to his back, arching up again and letting a soft groan escape as Cas deftly freed them both from their pants, lined them up with a groan of approval in his hand, and stroked them lazily as he showered Dean with kisses.

* * *

“I cannot return to heaven, Dean,”

With Dean almost back his full, former strength, Cas finally chose the moment to talk to him about the thing that had plagued him in silence since Dean had been in the hospital.

“Yeah, you said that,” Dean replied thickly, his heart starting up that slow, stirring pounding that came along with any thoughts of Cas being in any kind of trouble. When he thought back to Cas telling him his story in the hospital, he’d managed to put it to the back of his mind, pretend it wasn’t something they needed to talk about.

“I cannot ever return to heaven,” Cas repeated, and Dean looked up slowly as the words sunk in.

“Ever?” he asked, as though he was looking for a loophole in their conversation.

“No.”

With Cas staring back at him calmly, Dean’s heart seemed to increase its pounding to a speed that was more than rapid enough for them both. “Not even after... you know. This vessel... you know,” Dean asked, swallowing thickly around the uncomfortable words and reaching out for him with suddenly trembling fingers.

“After this vessel ceases to function, I do not know what will happen to me.”

Dean stared back in utter disbelief as Cas sat calmly, as though they were discussing nothing more than what to have for dinner.

How Cas could seem so _serene_ as though he had already come to terms with his own demise was not something Dean intended to get used to. What he intended to do, was fight, with all that he had, and all he could give.

Perhaps naively, Dean had allowed himself to grow comfortable, to feel safe, to feel that the few things that he loved in his life would be his to keep without him needing to put up a fight for them.

He had fought too hard, and he and Cas had come too far, for Dean to be willing to let anything happen to Cas again.

So he shook his head, looking for counter-arguments, and facts that might cast a different view on Cas’ apparent fate. He had to start somewhere, even if it was small, and even if his words felt empty on his own lips. “The other angels. When they were... released... they went to heaven, right?"

“Yes.”

“So what's different for you?”

“Dean,” Cas cupped his hands to his face and kissed him softly, leaning their foreheads together. “There is much I have done that would ensure I will never be welcome in Heaven again. I have spoken to the other angels who were trapped, and none of them have been able to return to Earth. They have been sealed there. There is no guarantee… it is unlikely, that I would be welcomed back to Heaven to suffer the same 'fate'. And if I cannot remain here, nor return to heaven… I do not know where I will go,”

Cas repeating himself uncertainly was enough to make Dean's heart pound harder still, and Dean found himself swallowing rapidly and thickly as he tried to keep himself as calm as possible.

“So. If you can't go to heaven, and you can't stay on Earth when this vessel… you know... ” he prompted, his heart now racing so hard that his blood was surging in his ears. He gripped tightly to Cas as though he had the power to change the words he needed to say, and to keep him forever with him.

Instead, all Cas could do was sigh heavily and shake his head. “I do not know.”

There was a heavy feel in the air between them, unspoken concerns that whispered the word _purgatory_ as though it was a specter in the room with them. There were other places that Cas —and he—might end up—and there was also _nothing_. It was the not knowing that was not going to sit easy for Dean.

Dean ached for Cas, missed him already, which was stupid really, he told himself; even a relationship between two regular people had to end one day in death. Dean had just always assumed, that when it was finally his time, that Cas would be with him. Love had made him blind, and blindness had lead him to that naivety, and now Dean felt as though his world was crumbling before his very eyes. There was no way he was about to let that happen.

“Well,” Dean said, determinedly, squeezing Cas' fingers and forcing himself to smile. “There's no guarantees where I'm gonna end up either,”

“Dean,” Cas began, and Dean cut him off with a kiss, stopping his protests of Dean obviously being heaven-bound after all of his service here on Earth. He didn't want to hear it. Neither of them knew for certain. But the thought of being without Cas...

“Cas,” Dean said brokenly, holding him tight. “We'll figure something out. We'll... we'll figure something out. 'cos wherever you're going after this life is done? I'm going. I’m never leaving you Cas, and you don’t get to leave me ever either, you hear me?”

“Dean,” Cas tried again, shaking his head. But Dean just kissed him hard, and desperate, shaking his head, refusing to allow Cas to voice his doubts as he clung on even tighter.

“We'll figure it out,” he repeated, weaving his shaking arms around Cas and holding him firmly as his heart continued its painful complaint in his chest.

Cas closed his eyes, and sighed, having anticipated such a reaction from Dean. There really were no guarantees for either of them, really, with everything that had happened. There was also the prospect of a long, mostly-human life by Dean's side, and if all he got was that, well. That would be all that he would take; he would cherish every moment of it and try not to focus on how short that really felt compared to his long, long existence.

He was tired, to his very bones, which was a feeling that should have startled or worried him. Instead, Cas just wanted to sleep, and wake up beside Dean, and live whatever time they had left together. Growing old wasn’t such a terrible prospect if he got to do that by Dean’s side.

“Dean,” he began, clearing the thickness from his throat with a determined shake of his head, and brushing his thumb over Dean’s knuckles. “We should _live_ , Dean. Just _live_. We do not know how long we have, or what will happen at the end of it all. But for now... Let us just _live_. Can we do that?”

Dean’s face crumpled and tears tracked down his face as he tried to get a handle on all that he was feeling. It didn’t matter how irrational this sudden fear of losing Cas now was; the pain that surged through him as a result of Cas’ uncertainty was crippling. But Cas just reached out his thumb again, this time to wipe those tears away, and offered him a smile.

“Please, Dean,” he reiterated, his voice small, almost timid behind the weight of everything.

Dean breathed out once, long and hard, forcing himself to calm, because that was what Cas needed, and from now on and for as long as he got to do it, that would be his priority; to give Cas whatever he needed, or wanted, whenever it was possible.

Cas didn’t need to know that the second his back was turned, Dean and Sam would be researching anything and everything they could get their hands on. He didn’t need to know that Dean would make a deal with anyone and everyone if it meant keeping Cas safe, and away from an end that wasn’t positive, or where he deserved it to be.

Cas probably already knew that Dean would fight for him, until the very end; beyond that even. Though those words never needed to be said out loud. Cas might even fight a little for himself, conduct his own research, to find out for certain what his fate really would entail. But after everything that had happened, all Cas felt was strangely accepting of whatever would come his way. He had Dean now, and that was currently all that mattered to him.

So instead of attempting to find even more words that ultimately would do nothing to change things, all he did was lean in, press their foreheads together, and kiss Dean softly until he felt him relax slightly under his touch.

Dean nodded eventually, forcing himself to calm, and offered up a smile.

“‘kay, Cas. Let’s live.”

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

Two years, Dean thought to himself.

Two years that had, despite all that had happened, been the happiest years of his life. Two years, where he had someone beside him, that was there _with_ him, whatever they were going through, who never wavered, or made him doubt himself.

Two years, where he had been someone else’s world, and they had been his. Cas had changed him for the better, and every day they seemed to grow even closer, without any sort of pressure or difficulty, or even anything that felt like effort.

On occasion, Dean would smile to himself and remember all of the difficulty they had once had with each other, as though he really couldn’t believe how far they had come.

He could look back on those miserable days before they were together, recognizing now that all that misery they went through was mostly because of his own self-loathing and over-complication of his fears.

There would never be enough ways he could make that up to Cas, but Dean was damn sure that he would continue searching for ways to try to do that anyway.

Being with Cas had made him happy; that was obvious. But what Cas had taught him that nobody else had ever been able to, was self-worth. There were so many things in Dean’s life that he needed to thank Cas for, and he intended to spend his entire life trying to repay him. Some days it felt like he just wouldn’t ever be good enough to do that, but for Cas... He would do anything.

On those doubtful days, Dean waited with baited breath for Cas to tell him he was leaving, spending the whole day on tenterhooks for his good luck with Cas loving him back to finally run out. And Cas would patiently offer up nothing but reassurance that him leaving Dean was something that was never, ever going to happen.

On the worst of days, Dean doubted he had anything left to give Cas at all.

But on those days, Cas always reminded Dean that he had already given him everything he wanted, simply by giving him himself.

And so, he could give him _this._

Dean swallowed awkwardly, adjusting the collar of his shirt and smoothing a hand down his tie once more, checking his appearance in the mirror.

His mind continued to wander, as it always seemed to do when he allowed it to go unchecked, and if he was honest, when he was trying to distract himself.

His memory painted snapshots for him of his happiest moments with Cas, from waking up to Cas beside him every morning, to days when the sky overhead was nothing but blue, and the road in front of them was clear, and Cas entwined his fingers through Dean's on his lap, humming along to whatever music was playing without any particular destination to head in.

They were simple people, he and Cas, despite what they spent most of their lives doing, and despite the constant threats that loomed over their heads.

Dean needed no reminder of how incredibly lucky he was: the evidence was right there by his side for almost every moment of his life.

The thought of what would happen if he lost Cas, what would happen when the inevitable happened and their time here was up, would overwhelm Dean if he let the thoughts get the better of him.

Dean tried to tell himself not to be greedy, to think in the same terms of every other person out there, who was aware of the timescale of their lives but didn’t spend time dwelling on the _after._

But knowing there _was_ an after, and not knowing where that _after_ could be for them both, still had Dean waking from nightmares and clinging tightly to Cas, in case he had somehow escaped his grasp during the night.

The thought of being separated from Cas, ever, had become like a physical blow to Dean's stomach, repeatedly knocking the wind out of him and making him doubt all he had ever known.

His and Sam's not-so-secret research hadn’t yet turned up anything useful to give either of them answers about what would happen to Cas at ‘the end’. It was the one subject that still remained a point of conflict for them both, because there simply were no straightforward answers.

And whilst they carried out their own research, Dean hoped, and if he was honest, prayed, that Cas was doing the same for himself.

Because he couldn’t imagine any existence without him.

Because Dean hated the thought of Cas giving up.

But today wasn’t the day for such dark thoughts.

Today was a good day, one that was allegedly, by ‘normal’ standards, supposed to be the happiest of his life. Dean would always argue that point, since every day with Cas in it was the happiest one for him, but still. Traditions of sorts were to be met.

Cas had announced a couple of weeks ago that he wanted some kind of formality to what they were, and Dean hadn't hesitated to agree. When Dean had prompted Cas for a reason anyway, he'd heard everything from ' _I want the human experience_ ' to ' _I assumed you would have no objection_ ' to ' _You are mine and I want the world to know that'_. But a previous conversation with Sam about Cas' frustration at the hospital when no one would tell Cas anything without Sam's presence as next of kin had told Dean a lot more than Cas' words had.

Of course, he could give Cas that.

Dean grinned to himself, feeling the heat on his flushed cheeks as he thought of his hasty proposal to Cas. He and Sam had been interviewing witnesses on a case in a small town when a jewelers had caught his eye from across the street. That evening, with Sam very definitely in a separate room of a slightly better-than-usual motel, Dean had taken Cas out for a drive and presented him with a ring as they laid side by side on the hood of the Impala.

He'd even, precariously, scrambled up to go down on one knee to do it.

The look on Cas' face as he stared down at the box in Dean's hand before back up at his face was possibly one of the best experiences of Dean's life.

Later that evening, from a tangle of sheets when Dean had breathlessly asked Cas about when he wanted this to happen, Cas had replied with, "y _esterday,_ " which had meant a hastily organised wedding licence with forged IDs and ministering rights, quick calls to the few people they considered friends, and the burning of new fake credit cards to provide them with the clothing and everything else associated with the occasion.

Today was that day, and whilst Dean would—and had—willingly given all of himself to Cas, he couldn’t help but feel the trickle of fear that flowed through him now.

Dean rehearsed his vows in his head again; simple, direct, exactly as they should be for the uncomplicated union that was he and Cas. There would be the exchanging of rings, the signing of papers, and a good dinner between friends, and that would be all. It was all they needed; why would they need anything more elaborate when they already knew what they were to one another? The words he needed to say to Cas he would whisper into his ear later when they were alone; some things truly did not need to be shared in front of an audience.

Cas would officially be a Winchester, and for some reason that made Dean grin wider than any other part of this. Cas would belong in a way he said he hadn’t ever felt before, and if taking Dean's name would give him that, well. Dean was powerless when it came to giving Cas what he wanted.

With a determined set to his shoulder, Dean gave himself a final nod, and headed out of their bedroom, seeking out Sam. Sam was so happy in his role as Best Man, going from teary-eyed to cheek-splitting grin so often that Dean teased him about him needing a facelift.

In truth, this day was a celebration for them all in a way, a nod to normality and a middle finger to the mayhem that was their lives.

Dean found Sam bent over paperwork at the table in the kitchen, a hand curled absently around a now-cold cup of coffee. Dean peered over his shoulder and snorted: how did a wedding of this size need quite such a long _to do_ list? Surely there weren't that many things for any of them to remember?

At Dean's snort, Sam looked up half-startled, peering back over his shoulder at the interruption. His face split immediately into a grin that Dean couldn't help but return.

Dean clasped his hand around Sam's shoulder, and for a brief moment, Sam covered it with his own, staring back at Dean with such affection that normally Dean would be rolling his eyes and joking his way out of it.

Dean stared back a moment longer, squeezed his hand around Sam’s shoulder lightly, then slid his fingers away.

"C'mon, Sammy. Let's go get me married,"

* * *

_Duty. Obeyance. Order._

_This was once all that Cas existed for._

_In a life of servitude, there is no room for thought, free will, or any form of distraction._

_Cas can’t help but be distracted by the glint of gold from his hand in the sunlight._

_The simple band has adorned his finger for around eight months now, and for every way he has become used to it being as much a part of him as this body is, there is another new way that surprises him, catches him unaware, makes his smile feel about a mile wide._

_That Dean is his, and he is_ Dean’s, _hasn’t really been in question for the longest time. But this small human gesture somehow feels like the biggest validation of his life by Dean’s side._

_Cas thinks back to the day of their wedding, and a warmth blooms in his chest as he remembers exchanged vows, a few photographs, and naturally, pie instead of cake. His fingers stroke over the ghost of bruises on his skin as he replays Dean's whispered words from their wedding night, and desire flushes through him, triggering more memories and making Cas fidget where he's sat._

_The month-long road trip that was their honeymoon, with just them, the Impala, and a whole lot of highway, is amongst his fondest memories that he thinks he will always associate with getting married. Motels and hotels, nights laid under the stars on the hood of the Impala, with no particular destination and certainly no rush to be returning back to hunting; these are the things he will cherish for_ always, _and will remind Dean about as often as possible. Particularly on those days when a cloud of worry seems to descend over Dean’s face and shadow him in darkness._

_Thankfully, those days are becoming less and less._

_Cas is always humbled when he is reminded that he is one of the main reasons there is an almost ever-present smile on Dean’s face nowadays; it washes across his features as they wake in the morning, stays fixed there as they share breakfast, and even on difficult cases is present like an internal glow that never really seems to leave Dean anymore._

_In turn, Dean has worked exactly the same miracles on Cas._

_Where Cas once felt as though he straddled two entirely separate worlds and belonged nowhere, now he has a permanent home. And that home isn’t even a physical place: wherever Dean is, is where_ Cas _is, and that is always going to be enough for him._

_“I don’t know what you’re thinking about, Cas, but you look like you just cleared up at every casino in Vegas,”_

_Cas smiles a little wider without even looking up. The glint from his wedding band has triggered all kinds of happy thoughts and distracted Cas from what he was doing; but Dean straddling the bench he is sitting on and pressing himself as close to Cas as is decently possible given the very public place they are in, is the thing that finally brings him back to himself._

_Cas gives out a small huff of amusement, more than happy to be caught out, happy to be distracted by such happiness, and leans himself into Dean to claim a long, lingering kiss. Dean’s arms loop sideways around Cas’ waist and thread together to hold him close, Cas’ fingers find purchase along Dean’s collar, and they only break away from one another because of a not-so-polite cough from Sam, who is bringing them a tray of food._

_Cas looks down at the notes they’ve scattered across the table where they’re discussing their current_ case, _but finds that he has little interest to even start looking now. Instead, he leans his head to the side against Dean’s forehead as he presses his chin into Cas’ shoulder, and rests a hand discreetly on his thigh as he reaches out and divides up his and Dean’s share of the food in front of them._

_Lunch is consumed in comfortable silence, and the mild day makes them all disinterested in working, happy to be sitting lazily and soaking up some rare sun._

_With_ unspoken _agreement, after lunch Dean and Cas find themselves alone. They stay sat on that picnic bench pressed into one another as they had done throughout their meal, indulging in the affection of nuzzles and kisses that they keep reserved for when Sam isn’t around to tease them._

 _Cas hasn’t ever really cared about Sam’s teasing, and despite how hard Dean blushes sometimes at Sam’s words, Cas is fairly certain Dean doesn’t care that much either anymore. He just mumbles things_ like _discretion_ and _just for us, and Cas is more than happy to go along with that._

_In fact, considering how light their caseload is at the moment, Cas is planning a whole lot more of that discretion in the form of yet another few days away for them, alone._

_Cas thinks of how Sam will probably appreciate them giving him some peace as well, and grins, a blush lighting up his cheeks as he remembers a half-grumbled lecture from Sam earlier just that week, about a time and a place for everything. And bleaching his eyes. Which sounds horrendous even now, and Cas will avoid Sam causing himself injury because of something he and Dean have done._

_Even if Sam is overly dramatic about such things at times._

_Biting the bullet, he clears his throat, cups Dean’s face and kisses him thoroughly before pressing their foreheads together and mumbling, “I want us to take a few days,”_

_Cas feels a ripple run through_ Dean, _because those words have a very specific meaning to them both. It means Cas is in control, Cas has plans for him, and that Dean’s going to be thoroughly exhausted and unable to sit straight for a few days._

_Cas knows full well that Dean will have no complaints about that whatsoever._

_Dean threads his fingers through the back of Cas’ hair, moaning softly against his lips as he presses himself a little closer; Cas can tell Dean’s mind is already there, going over the many possibilities of what they will do together._

_“Now?” Dean asks quietly as he breaks away for air, and smiles when Cas answers with nothing more than a nod._

_Dean pulls him to his feet, and Cas slots his arms around Dean’s waist, pulling them flush together._

_“Anything you want, Cas. Anything at all.”_

* * *

_It is less than a full day since Cas had first had the idea of them going away together somewhere, and as Cas falls back exhausted on to the mattress as he catches his breath, he thinks about how instantly that plan came to fruition.  And how sleep really doesn’t seem to have happened for them since they left that picnic bench yesterday. And how he wouldn’t have it any other way._

_Cas smiles as Dean’s hand snakes out to thread through his from where he is laying by his side, also on his back, also breathless._

_Cas gives it a minute and then forces himself to stand, returning moments later from the bathroom with a damp cloth that he uses to gently wipe Dean down, all the time pressing kisses on to Dean’s face, and neck, and lips. Dean reaches for him, and Cas straddles him easily, hands sliding up and over Dean’s chest for a moment before he leans down for another long, lingering kiss, like he really can’t get enough._

_When he drops back down to the side of the bed he pulls Dean to him, and Dean molds against his skin as though they are two pieces of a puzzle. Sometimes, like in this moment now, as Cas traces idle patterns over Dean with his fingertips, he thinks how they have always been like this. Two separate individuals that have their own story to tell, but when slotted together as they are, create a wholeness that neither one of them ever understood before they became what they are together._

_As he feels Dean fall asleep in his arms, and feels his lips press absent kisses to whatever parts of him Dean can reach, Cas smiles. Who was that broken man who had once pushed him away as though he was something to fear, or loathe? Who was that angel so afraid of falling that he_ fled, _until it was almost too late to have the only thing he had ever really wanted? They have come so_ far, _and grown so close, that their former selves may as well be strangers._

 _Cas smiles again, silently offering up thanks_ for _those people that they once were, and for what they have become._

_With splayed fingers, Cas greedily presses his palms flat against the smoothness of Dean’s back, dropping a kiss on to the top of his head where Dean has buried himself beneath Cas’ chin._

_Forever_ for _them is going to be complicated. There will be difficulties, probably some sacrifices, and no doubt many an angry word that is soothed away hours later in the comfort of their bed. But it’s going to happen: Cas will give all that he can to make it_ happen, _because if there is no Dean, there is_ no _him._

_They have overcome life, and death, and their own stupidity; there isn’t a power left in existence that can ever pull them apart now._

_Feeling himself begin to fall asleep, Cas sighs softly, berating himself for allowing such serious thoughts to invade such a perfect afternoon between them._

_With a languid stretch that touches every possible part of Dean at every possible point, Cas’ sigh turns to one of contentment, pushing those thoughts very firmly away._

_And as he slowly falls asleep holding the only thing in his existence that he has ever truly loved, Cas smiles. For Dean, there would never be too far to fall._

  
  



End file.
